


ashtray

by shutupnerd



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Cigarettes, Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Happy Valentines Day!, I like their dynamic a lot, Kissing, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationships, abandoned hotel, pregame thh i guess, theyre both kind of fucked in the head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupnerd/pseuds/shutupnerd
Summary: junko meets izuru in a trashed hotel. he really shouldn't smoke as much as he does.
Relationships: Enoshima Junko/Kamukura Izuru
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	ashtray

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiiiii happy valentines day i wasn't planning on doing anything because my fluff stores are low but then i remembered that   
> a) i dont have to write fluff  
> b) i've wanted to write junko and izuru forever i just never got around to it  
> so here we are.

The apartment is ransacked. Completely uninhabitable. Whatever furniture he can sit on without it collapsing under his feet is filthy and disgusting. So he stands and lights his cigarette by a broken window, blowing smoke out into a blustery, freezing evening. He’s never burnt himself on a lighter. He almost wants to put his finger in the flame, just to experience the pain of burning. But he doesn’t. He’s expecting her. 

She doesn’t exactly make a discreet entry. The door clatters behind him, heels bounce across rotten and faded carpet. 

“Those things’ll kill ya, babe!” She throws an arm around his shoulder, giggling when the tip of his cigarette falls to the ground below. He stamps it out with his shoe. Though he could just let the fire start. They’d be fine. Something as mundane as a cigarette fire wouldn’t take them out. 

“I know.” He takes another puff and blows the smoke out the window, watching it curl and dissipate into the dirty street. Everything here is dirty. It’s all covered in a layer of grime and mud and dried-up blood that he barely even notices anymore. Nobody notices it anymore. It’s just a part of life. Unfortunate and irritating as it may be. Cleanliness is boring--there’s nothing to fix. But an endless sea of dirt means everything is there to be fixed and cleaned. Boring. There’s no balance. The nicotine courses through his body, seeping into his bloodstream. “What do you want?”

“To hang out with my favorite, of course!” Her perfume is designer. She keeps herself in supply of it. Even though she isn’t out of her school often. Her precious classmates would start to get suspicious if she was gone for too long. But she keeps herself well-stocked. Even in chaos, she finds a way to remain in luxury compared to them. Her compact has a designer logo stamped into it. She doesn’t cut the tags out of her clothes, just so people know exactly who she’s rich and important enough to buy from. There are no tags in his clothes. Whoever he was before--he ripped them out, didn’t even cut them with scissors. Perhaps he was impatient. 

“You never come to me unless you want something.” He doesn’t really like how cigarettes taste. But that’s irrelevant. “Spit it out.”

“So  _ mean,”  _ she pouts, poking a finger into his cheek. Her other hand slips into his pocket, grabbing his cigarettes. She takes one for herself. “Am I not allowed to just pay a visit? Give me a light, won’t you?”

He flicks on the lighter for her. It was red at one point, but it’s faded and beaten to hell and back. He’ll probably have to find a new one. She leans into the flame, giving him a saccharine grin in thanks. 

“You never have come just to pay a visit,” he says, staring out the window. He’s barely even looked at her but she’s hanging off him, playing a needy caricature of herself. “What do you want from me, Enoshima?”

“Company.” She takes a prolonged drag of her stolen cigarette, sighing out the smoke. “You need to get a better brand next time. These are shit.”

“You didn’t have to take them.”

“I’m bored. Can’t get away with smoking with that hall monitor around. Not like there are many cigs at Hope’s Peak, anyway. I have to come find you if I want any kind of fun. Or even just, like, intelligent  _ conversation _ .” She taps her cigarette on the cracked windowsill, collecting a small pile of ash. “You know I love them, but it’s really  _ dull  _ to be stuck with people who don’t know anything about you!”   
  


“Love isn’t a word I’d apply to you.”

She giggles before she gives him a playful elbow to the ribs. Her heels are huge, putting them at equal height. It’s a miracle how she runs around in them so effortlessly. “Then what would you use?”

“Sadism.” He knows what she’s got planned for them. He helped her design some of those lovely little executions, tailored to each of them so specifically. “You want to see them bleed.”   
  


“Oh, yeah, sure,” she says, crossing her arms. “But it’s not really time for that yet. I’m almost ready! I’m so  _ antsy  _ about it!” She pushes Izuru down into a moth-eaten couch and drapes herself melodramatically across him, throwing a hand over her forehead and nearly getting ash in his eyes in the process. “What if people don’t like it, Izzy? I’d  _ hate  _ it if I spent all that time making something so special and people didn’t appreciate it!”

“They’ll be appropriately horrified by it, I’m sure. The particularly nasty sort will enjoy them just as much as you do.”

“You always know  _ just  _ what to say,” she coos, sitting up and placing herself firmly in his lap. “I love you, you know.”

He rolls his eyes.   
  


“Don’t give me that!” She takes his chin in her hand, her nails poking into his skin. He just sits there, waiting for her to finish her inspection so he can finish the cigarette. “You really need to work on your attitude, sweetcheeks. A simple  _ thank you  _ would work.”

“I thought you liked boys who played hard to get,” he says, raising a single eyebrow at her. 

She puffs out her cheeks in some attempt to be cutesy. It doesn’t really work. “I thought we were past that!” 

He just blinks. She lets go of him and he takes another drag. 

“Are you going to blow that in my face, babe?”

Yes, he is. She coughs and scowls at him. “You’re not being a good host.”

“I’m not hosting. I just happened to get here first.” 

She presses him back into the couch, until their chests are pressed together. She flicks her half finished cigarette out the window, bored of it. She takes his and throws it, too. 

“I wasn’t finished with that.”   
  


“You were being rude with it,” she sniffs. “You have more for later.”

There’s nothing burning in their hands to inhibit her anymore. (Not that they would have regardless. She must not be in the mood to burn things today.) She pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side. He’s going to have to clean it later. Annoying. She is quite annoying, in most of their encounters. 

But she’s the only one who can keep him on his toes. So being an irritant is fine by him, he supposes. 

“You said you came for company.”

“You know what that means by now.” She leans down and pulls him into a kiss that tastes like artificial strawberry and cigarettes. He lets her in, her nails poking into his waist. If she tightens her grip, they’re bound to break the skin.

She tightens her grip. So he does the same, pressing fingertip-shaped bruises into her hips. Every action begets an equal and opposite reaction. He wants his cigarette. 

“I have a little proposition for you, honey bun,” she whispers in his ear, her breath already heavier than before. “You know my little plan might not end well.”

“I doubt it will.”

“You take over if I eat it, okay? Make the world in my image.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to want anything else. None of your lovestruck terrorists are fit for that position.”

“You say that like you’re not one of them.”

“I wouldn’t say that I am.”

She pouts again, twirling a strand of dyed hair around her finger. “Are you saying you don’t love me?”

“I don’t love anyone. You of all people should know that.” Love is a useless and frivolous emotion, too easily twisted against someone. Love is weakness. He has no use for it. 

“Even after all I did for you? Even after I got you out of that dark, dreary place? Where they kept you locked up with nothing to do? I hand you the world on the platter and you don’t love me for it?” Her voice has dipped into something deeper, more sultry. Her hands slide up and take his face, cupping his cheeks and forcing eye contact with her. “Have I not earned that from you?”

“You seek something that doesn’t exist within me.” he stares at her. She stares at him. Her lipstick is smeared--it’s all over his face, he’s sure. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window--he’s covered in it. Like a predator marks its territory. “Do not try and pursue the impossible.”

“You  _ are  _ an impossibility already.” She kisses all over his face, leaving lipstick prints that he knows won’t wash off easily. “It’s no problem to ask you for just a little bit more of that magic.” 

Her hands move up now and she begins to play with his hair, dragging fingers through the dark strands. 

“You can’t always expect to get what you want from me.”   
  


“But you always give it so freely. What’s one more thing?” Another kiss, just below his ear. He returns with his own, transferring some of her own lipstick back to her. He’s shoved back into the couch. The springs and frame of the couch are nearly bare, digging into his back as she wags her finger in his face.

“I’m playing right now. You stay right there.” 

He resists the urge to sigh. “So you’re bored, then.”

“I  _ knew  _ I could count on you to figure it out!” Her smile is so bright and sugary that it makes his teeth ache. She still tastes like candy and cigarettes. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll let you get back to your boytoy soon. I just missed having someone on my level to talk to.”

“You’re sending quite a few mixed messages here.”

“Of course I am,” she protests, fiddling with his tie and tossing it to the side. “You don’t need to know what I want from you. Just keep on giving it to me.” 

He closes his eyes and sinks into the couch, keeping a steel grip on her. He’s bored. He’s tired, even. He hasn’t slept for days and she won’t let him smoke until she’s gone. His body is demanding rest.

Of course she picks up on it. 

“You’ve got big circles under your eyes again. Why aren’t you sleeping, baby?” Just as perceptive as he is. He can’t get much past her. 

“You’ve left me with quite a bit to do. I will sleep when I’m ready to.”

“That won’t do! I can’t have you running yourself into the ground like this!” she exclaims, putting on the thoroughly irritating persona of a worried wife. “Darling, promise me you’ll rest soon. Do it for me.”

“I will rest when I need to.” He leans his head back farther into the cushion. Giving her more access to his neck. She takes the opportunity. “You know I know my limits.”   
  


“Of course I do.” She gets off him, then, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him up. “I want to see them.”

Before he can even answer they’re in the stairwell, Izuru finding himself being pulled to the roof. She shoves him through the door--or, at least she intended to. He sidesteps her and lets her trip onto the concrete. 

She laughs with busted knees and takes his hands to twirl him around, like this is all some kind of game to her. It is. He knows it is. Nothing is serious to her--this is her world, after all. They all live in her snowglobe with no way out. So if she wants to make it a dance, who is he to say no? There’s not much better to do.

There’s a knife hidden under her skirt. Of course there is. They look a mess, covered in lipstick and reeking of smoke. But she’s having fun. And it’s a break from his routine. 

It’s fine enough when she tries to throw him over the side of the roof. She’s the one who ends up dangling, though, gripping onto his wrist for dear life. Her legs kick uselessly in the wind.

He stares down at her. He could kill her. In fact, he probably would benefit if he killed her. She’s a leech he can’t unstick, gorging herself on whatever she can get from him. He’d be better off if she was dead.

But once she’s dead, there’s nobody who can disrupt the monotony. There’s nobody to talk to who can match him. He might not kill her. 

He’ll let her decide.

“Beg.”

“I’d rather let go, honestly,” she says nonchalantly, inspecting the nails on her free hand. “You’re not gonna get any bawling from me, babe. I’m fine with dying at your hands.”

His grip loosens. He could kill her. He should kill her. He would kill her. But where does that leave Izuru? If Junko Enoshima becomes a splatter on the pavement, he doesn’t have anyone to use him anymore. Well, Komaeda, perhaps, but that relationship is profoundly different. It has its own place and wouldn’t replace this. What does he have, when he doesn’t have someone puppeteering the strings tied to him? He knows they’re there. He knows his purpose isn’t his own and never is going to be.

He sighs and hauls her halfway up. Enough that when he lets go, she’ll probably survive, given she can get herself back on the roof.

She can. He’s not quite disappointed. But he did expect it. 

He starts to walk back to the stairwell. “Go back, Junko. I’m bored of you.”

“After I came all this way? You’re getting rid of me that quickly?” 

“I want a cigarette. Get out.”   
  


She sighs and takes a handful of his hair, yanking it to her. “Fine. Whatever! Just be on the lookout. I might not be back anytime soon. My broadcast is about to start. You promise to watch, right?”

“I’ll be there for every minute of it.”

“And if it fails?”   
  


“I’ll find you. I’ll keep your brood under control.”

“Good. But not too much control, okay?”

She kisses him goodbye, like she always does. He doesn’t watch her go. He never does.

He’s lighting up a cigarette when he sees her die on screen two months later. She’s overjoyed, waving as she goes. He wouldn’t expect anything less from her.    
  


He leans back in his rickety chair, blowing smoke at the screen. “See you soon.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u had fun with this! i like writing them together a lot...junkos a bad bitch and i am but a simple woman liker. i love u!!! make sure you take care of yourself!!!
> 
> -fen <3


End file.
